


Fuck You, Pay Me

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Age Difference, Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Human Furniture, Inspired by Fanart (included in the endnotes with credit), M/M, Nicholai is a FinDom and Sergei is a pay pig someone help me, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Nicholai has unconventional paydays.[begging you to heed the tags on this train wreck]
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	Fuck You, Pay Me

This wasn't a normal way to collect a pay check, Nicholai knew. 

The administrators never asked why he and only he was required to pick up his salary directly from Colonel Sergei Vladimir, but they knew better than to ask. While all the other mercenaries brought themselves to the drab, grey-coloured payroll offices after missions, ones that almost seemed out of place for Umbrella, Nicholai would saunter past. Down halls, up stairs, and through pressure-locked doors, he would bring himself to an office he was more familiar with anyone else at the company. 

He'd enter without knocking, and ignore the twin Ivan T-103 tyrants always at the ready by the door -- ones who had become so accustomed to him that they now registered his presence without the slightest grumble or growl of caution. 

Immediately, he'd skim his way around the tremendous wooden desk with a flick of his hips and a comb of his fingers across the surface. He'd sit in the tufted, fragrant leather chair on the other side, dropping his head back on the winged back with an entitled sigh. 

Today, the silver briefcase containing his contract renumeration was already waiting for him on the desk. He danced his palm across the smooth, cool external shell, stroking it as though it were a precious pet while he made himself comfortable in the chair that did not belong to him. Without even looking, he lifted his heels slightly and extended his legs, muscle memory bringing them precisely where they needed to be to make contact with the footstool-in-waiting.

Or, something _like_ a footstool. 

Sergei's breath hitched when he felt Nicholai's boots come down on his back, adjusting his palms slightly on the floor in order to stabilise himself better. It always sent an electrical current of delight quaking through his stomach, lurching his organs into his hips perversely. 

Nicholai pretended the older man didn’t exist, silence accompanying their first moments together like it always did. For a moment, the mercenary's eyes flicked over to the twin tyrants, still standing diligently by the door. They were watching him, a muted look of plastic curiosity on their stoic faces as they watched the scene play out as it had so many times before. Sometimes, Nicholai wondered what they would think about it if they could think anything about it at all.

With a sigh, Nicholai began to pop open the briefcase, licking his lips before speaking.

"I want to buy another car..." He murmured with a pout, eyes preoccupied with the shiny glint of the silver as he opened the lid, "There'd better be extra in here."

He knocked the heel of one of his boots against Sergei's back, a silent prompt which advised the older man that he was expected to answer in some way.

" _Da_ , Sir."

Nicholai grinned, but declined to respond. He dropped his boots off of Sergei's back, letting them rest on the floor with another, silent order. 

The Colonel immediately shifted on his knees, turning slightly until he was facing the younger man. He bowed down deeply, beginning to worship the boots presented to him without a moment of hesitation or even the need for a strict demand. He cradled the ankle of one delicately, planting tiny, reverent kisses on the toe with desperate breaths of utter jubilance. Nicholai was pointedly ignoring him.

"Also -- I don't want to do any work in November." He smirked, "I'm going on vacation. But I still expect to be paid."

" _Da_ , Sir." Sergei muttered between caresses, "How much do you need?"

"Send me your salary that month." 

"Of course, Sir."

Nicholai plucked a banded stack of greenbacks out of the suitcase, unceremoniously flicking off the elastic to free the wad of cash. The smell wafting from the notes was heavenly -- like an old, musty bank vault. His ear was tickling with the supple, moist sounds of Sergei lapping at his boots. The Colonel was practically purring as he began to flip his way through the money, not so much counting as he was simply admiring. Dead U.S presidents glared at him as he passed over each bill with a smarmy sneer, thumb rubbing on the crisp paper and releasing an even more intense fragrance. 

Sometimes Nicholai ruminated over the poetic beauty of it all. 

It wasn't long ago that they'd had nothing. Their country ruined, eroded, collapsed into a fragment of its former self, and the _Americans_ had been responsible -- or so Sergei liked to declare with lips twisted into a snarl. Now, it was America which was suffering; its cities apocalyptic playgrounds for B.O.Ws, its money printed like paper by a corporation run by those who had nothing but utter contempt for it -- a corporation it helped create with its capitalistic decadence. 

Now, the thought of poverty was a joke. Struggling was a game they played together, and money was almost as much of a fetishistic prop as the occasional collar and leash that made its way between them.

Nicholai sighed loudly, dropping the cash he'd been sorting through back into the suitcase. The loose bills fanned out over all of the other wads, still neatly packed and wrapped. He cast his gaze down his nose at the older man, who was still content at shining his boots, running his tongue along the length of each in a short alternations. 

"You are a good boy, Sergei."

The older man shuddered, a tiny moan breathing past his lips though he continued to lap at the leather dutifully. 

"I am going to be gracious and let you pleasure me today..." Nicholai smirked, biting his bottom lip seductively when the Colonel's lust-hazy gaze immediately rose to meet his, the older man's tongue still on the toe of his left boot. "... for the normal amount."

His face reddening with heat, Sergei rose and sat back onto his haunches, reverent fingers slowly playing along the younger man's belt buckle. So full of desire, he fumbled through loosening it stupidly, the metal clattering loudly when it was pushed open to each side.

As his scarred, trembling fingers worked Nicholai's zippered fly, Sergei cast a glance over the desks' surface at the twin Ivan tyrants, who immediately perked up as they saw their Master looking at them. Barking an order at them in Russian, the two immediately moved to comply, exiting the room in the hasty, loud stride of obedient diligence.

_Go get another briefcase!_

Nicholai sighed contentedly, leaning back in the chair with a suppressed moan -- a warm, eager mouth enveloping his manhood in a long, deep suck.

No, this wasn't a normal way to collect a pay check, Nicholai knew.

But he didn't mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by this hilarious piece of fan art I found:
> 
> I found the art on ZeroChan, the Pixiv ID is 454534, and the artist name (I BELIEVE) is Mangaka. AMAZING art, all credit to them.


End file.
